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... walk without rhythm and you won't attract the worm.....
Would someone please invent salt and pepper, deep fried, bacon wrapped squid to make my life complete.
Thanks in advance.
Ok, so a little about me.
I am socially inept, disconcertingly blunt, demonstrably maladjusted and unaccustomed to positive feedback.
The Black Keys
Corrosion of Conformity
Bob and Ziggy Marley
Dead Can Dance
Johnny Cash - don't ask me why, I don't know why, just do.
Rage Against The Machine
Any string quartet playing anything but really like Spanish, Gypsy and Celtic styles
Alice in Chains
E. O. Wilson
James D. Watson
UNCLE ROY.....UNCLE MELVIN and UNCLE NORBERT'S PHILOSOPHY CORNER
Ol' Roy told me once "If you can stay calm while all around is chaos,
then you prob'ly haven't completely figgered the situation."
Politicians and diapers have one thing in common. They should both be changed regularly, and for the same reason.
Enslave the mind and the body will follow to its own destruction if so commanded.
"A man will be imprisoned in a room with a door that's unlocked and opens inwards; as long as it does not occur to him to pull rather than push." - Wittgenstein
"And thus I clothe my naked villany. With odd old ends stol'n forth of holy writ, and seem a saint when most I play the devil." from Hamlet
Prohibit the taking of omens, and do away with superstitious doubts.
Then, until death itself comes, no calamity need be feared.
THE CONQUEROR WORM.
LO! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly —
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
That motley drama — oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes! — it writhes! — with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out — out are the lights — out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes. - Proust
Take only what you need.
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